


Damon's Teddy Bear

by Asasin



Category: Gears of War (Video Games)
Genre: Boys In Love, Cuddling & Snuggling, Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, Implied Relationships, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Sleep Deprivation, Sleeping Together, sleeping over
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-26
Updated: 2015-07-26
Packaged: 2018-04-11 10:16:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4431416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asasin/pseuds/Asasin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Damon is having trouble sleeping, so he goes to the only place where he knows he’ll be able to get comfortable enough to drift off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Damon's Teddy Bear

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Timeline is after the Locust War when Delta One is probably just chilling on Azura for a while.
> 
> It’s late; midnight to be precise. And he’s exhausted. Working on machines and griping all day really takes the starch right out of guy. So why can’t he sleep? After taking care of some mandatory things, he’d slid into his bedtime clothes and crawled right into bed to slumber. Half an hour later, no matter how he twists and turns, writhers and huffs, sleep just won’t bid him the rest he needs.

Damon stares into the darkness of his room, feeling the void of pitch black ridicule him for the dastardly inability to sleep. “Fucking-A,” he grumbles, rolling onto his back. He closes his eyes and focuses on the soothing tempo of slow, steady breaths. Emptying his mind to the best of his ability, he compels all the aches and groans of the day to slip away into the back corner of his thoughts.

He lies positively motionless, willing sleep to take away his consciousness. Any moment now would be nice… But the urge to switch back into a different position sneaks up on him like a desperate itch needing to be scratched—or sometimes it was an itch that need to be scratched. Whatever it was, something was constantly poking him a way he couldn’t ignore.

What he would do for a sleep aid right now…

He throws himself onto his right side. In another few seconds, he throws himself onto his left. A loud, unhappy huff of breath leaves his lips loudly: the lamp is switched on in the signal of his surrender. He gazes at his loose, tangling sheets. He just can’t completely relax. There’s a nagging feeling, a lack of warmth and the surrender of bodies against another. His cheeks warm up a little: he wants Marcus.

Immediately his mind is time traveling back to the many times he’d slept with Marcus. Granted the first of time was because he’d been drunk (that was an entirely different story, thank goodness), but the others were for the pure enjoyment.

It had been a risk every times, with the chances of someone getting suspicious about Damon entering and leaving Marcus’ room. So they’d been careful: Damon, or sometimes Marcus, arriving late and leaving in the wee hours of the morning to sleep the last three or two hours in his own room. Admittedly the whole ordeal was a bit of a bitch to enact. To someone else, the whole sleepover probably seemed pointless, to say the least. They’d always see each other in the morning and, sometimes, for almost the whole day.

Well, then that someone would have to understand this: out in the daylight, under the criticizing gaze of everyone else, Marcus and Damon were just friends. But when the romantic bliss of nightfall came, they were something much more: boyfriends (lovers sounds like too much of an old romance thing to Baird).

Sleepover was a dainty way of stepping around saying snuggling half-naked and, occasionally (if neither was that tired), fucking until their bodies gave out.

For the past week they haven’t engaged in those nightly routines, however. It’s mostly because Baird had nearly walked in when Anya was visiting Marcus late one night. There would have been no explanation for that, and they both agreed it would be best if they were even more careful. Basically, Marcus’ way of suggesting they stop for a while even though Anya now knew she wasn’t getting anywhere with Damon’s Sergeant.

Even though he didn’t want to seem clingy, the blonde had squeezed every last drop of information the following day of Anya’s visit. It had been an attempt to take a step forward with Marcus and her relationship, but nothing had happened—he was thoroughly assured of that.

Damon folds his arms on top of his knees and rests his chin on them. What are the chances of someone noticing him, anyway? He hasn’t really gotten to talk to Marcus the past few days beside the occasional nod of acknowledgment and a short chat in the mess hall. He fucking misses the man and that can’t be helped. There’s something about being with the Sergeant that draws him in like a moth to the flame. And he knows it’s just as dangerous as the metaphor suggests. But like the moth, Damon won’t resist the attraction, the urge. Why live life empty? Some things are worth the risk.

The exciting static energy, connecting Marcus and him is nothing he’s ever felt before. It makes him feel nervous and in the right place at the same time. Whenever their eyes meet, he’s lost and found. Knowing the emotions in Marcus’ gunmetal blue eyes are reserved for only him blooms a flower of happiness and content in his heart.

He’s in the seventh cloud with they’re panting and holding each other close, ridding out overpowering climaxes. And when they’re settled in each other’s arms with the afterglow bringing over a soothing daze, he feels relaxed in a way nothing else could compare to.

Damon is smiling now, a small but honest, fulfilled smile. He blinks in consideration, eyeing his hotel door.

Yeah, fuck this.

The last few weeks—fucking weeks—have been hell (okay so maybe week should be singular… but still!). Sleeping without Marcus has been a disaster to the engineer’s sleeping patterns if there ever were one. Nothing can compare to being surrounded by the scent of his Sergeant, while tucked under a blanket warmed by another body. With Azura being a tropical island, one would think with the days often turning people into soup, the nights wouldn’t be much better. But they were usually balmy. With a crisp sea breeze sailing through an open window, it could sometimes even be a little chilly. Needless to say, Damon doesn’t need a cool night to want to sleep with Marcus.

He slips out of bed, grabbing his small keychain off the bedside table.

He creeps down the hallway like a thief. 96… 97… 98… 99… He stops. Checking his sectors, he taps his knuckles against the door. The soft sound seems to echo down the hallway like a shout. He flinches. Maybe he should have just used the key Marcus gave him? Too late now, he supposes.

He waits anxiously for the reply, but nothing happens. He raises his hand to knock again, but the sound of the deadbolt being undone stops him. The door creaks inward and Marcus is standing at the threshold, looking ruffled from sleep and bare chest, but perfect as ever to the Corporal.

Damon can’t help the stupid grin that spreads across his face when he sees the slight surprise in his Sergeant’s eyes. He then drinks in the rest of the man’s face: there’s tired written all over him. The blonde starts to feel guilty, an unusual emotion. Did he just wake him up from sleep he really needed? Marcus steps aside before he can really contemplate the thought.

“Sorry,” he pretty much blurts out as he walks into the room. “I didn’t mean to wake up you. It’s just…” Damon falters, feeling sheepish. Normally he never apologizes. He scratches the back of his neck. Marcus doesn’t reply as he shuts the door.

The warmth and the heavy presence behind him, makes Damon turn. Marcus is looming close behind him with a sleepy, but not at all disgruntled expression. For a moment all Damon wants to do is drink in that handsome face—or at least everything he can see with the light from the scythe-like moon. Something about Marcus definitely changes when he looks at the blonde like that. It’s a look he’s come to love.

Marcus leans down and steals a kiss from him, before steering him towards the bed. Damon figures the bastard’s quiet because he’s tired, since he’s obviously not unhappy. They climb beneath the covers, and Damon is quick to claim his usual spot facing Marcus with an arm draped over his chest. Meanwhile Marcus stretches his left arm out and under Damon’s pillow. For some reason, the Sergeant always prefers to lie on his back when he falls asleep. Since it’s obviously not from any prevailing, past injury, Damon has come to assume it’s habit. Whenever they got a chance to sleep during the war, it was on their back, because of the accessibly the position provided (and it’s to that easy to move around in armor).

Anyway, it made it easy for Damon to snuggle close to Marcus’ side—an action that seemed to put them both terribly out of character. But there’s always more to the oyster than it’s shell. To be bold (but exceptionally honeyed and metaphorical), the inside of the oyster is a pearl—their compassionate feelings for one another. In any case, neither of them mind seeming so out of character. If anything love changes a person.

Now that he’s got what he’d wanted, Damon feels genuine sleepiness truss him up. Marcus’ breathe has evened out to a slow pattern, and Damon mimics it, feeling the lull of sleep grow heavier… and heavier… and heavier… Until he finally dozes off himself.

**Author's Note:**

> This one was in the working process file for a while. Read over it yesterday and decided to finish it today. A little bit longer than my usual Daman and Marcus drabbles, but just as plotless since I only wanted to write something short n' sweet for them.


End file.
